A Study in Johnlock
by bethanyyerinn
Summary: A crackish Johnlock where you are a little closer to the story than you're probably used to. John is wondering whether it's really worth it to "date" Sherlock. Note: I do not own the rights to BBC Sherlock or any of it's characters, I only creepily watch them when they think they're alone.
1. Hello, Reader!

Oh, hello there. Didn't expect you. Honestly, what writer expects that someone will actually read their story? Maybe at this point you're wondering "why the hell is this story _talking to me_?" Maybe you're even considering skipping to the next story, because the fact that the writer is actually talking directly to you is slightly disconcerting. Well, don't go away just yet. It gets better.

See, I only wanted to greet you. How rude most writers are, just starting their story with no introduction! After the reader has taken time out of their very busy schedule to read their story, the least they can do is offer up a proper hello!

And so I am.

And now maybe you're wondering when I'm going to get to the point, and again thinking about closing this window. Well, fret not. I am getting to the point right about…

Now.

I suppose you're here because you want to hear about John Watson and Sherlock Holmes and how no matter how much they try to deny it, they're actually in love.

Well, good reader, you've come to the right place. Except, you and John aren't really on the same page, not yet. Here, I'll show you.

John's sitting on the settee. Worry not, he can't see you. You're not really here or anything, but you can see him. He's sitting here in the silent flat—the curtains are veiling the dark, storming early evening—staring at the ground. He looks obviously distraught. Both you and John are very aware that Sherlock isn't here, because if he were, he'd be making his presence known. Sherlock, for a complete genius, is really quite the attention-hogging child most of the time.

And confusing, which John is musing about right at this second.

John's having one of those moments where he wonders whether or not it's actually worth it to date Sherlock Holmes.

They've only been dating for about a month and already John has gone through this inner struggle six or seven times.

A day.

Well, "dating" is kind of a relative term when talking about what exactly is going on between he and Sherlock Holmes. He only calls it that because that's what he would call a normal more-than-friends relationship with a normal more-than-a-friend type of person.

But, as both you and John know all too well, Sherlock Holmes is nowhere near being a normal person.

Not even the circumstances of them getting together were normal. Well, normal for anyone else. For John, it was only half surprising. I'll show you exactly what happened.

* * *

You're still in the flat, but it's light outside this time. There's no rain, like there was before. There are birds chirping, actually, which is exactly what has Sherlock Holmes ticked off.

"Shut up, will you?" he bellows suddenly.

John looks up from his book in surprise. This time he _really_ isn't sure what he's done. He wasn't even flipping the page or sighing or anything. Not that Sherlock needs an excuse to be a complete lunatic, but usually there was some sort of reason behind outbursts like this.

And John is getting really tired of Sherlock's outbursts nowadays. When usually he would stay silent, this time he speaks.

"Sherlock, I'm not talking," he says irritably.

"What?" Sherlock snaps, looking over to John. "I wasn't talking to you," he says after a moment.

John blinks a few times. "Gotten an imaginary friend, have you? Is he a pain in your arse like you're a pain in mine? I bloody well hope so."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Very clever, John. That witty remark must have taken almost all of your brain power."

"That wasn't witty, that was the truth. Now who're you telling to be quiet if it isn't me?"

"Those infernal creatures outside!"

John's head slowly turns to the window, an incredulous look on his face. "Sherlock. Please tell me you aren't talking about the birds."

"Yes, John, the birds! They're always chirping about and it's not conducive to a good deducing environment!"

"Well, Sherlock, believe it or not, not everything on the bloody planet is about you. And the birds surely don't _know_ they're irritating—wait a moment. Deducing? Deducing what, you've just been sitting there across from me all morning."

Sherlock sighs in exasperation at the stupidity of everyone else in his life. He even thinks you're stupid, and he doesn't even know you. Don't be insulted. Everyone's a moron to him. You probably know that already, but I don't want you to think I'm insulting you. I, unlike Sherlock, think you're a fine gentleman/lady/person (because I shouldn't assume you have a gender at all. You never know nowadays).

"John, please, prove to me you aren't quite as dense as your fellows. If I've been sitting here across from you all morning, doing nothing else, then what do you _think_ I'm deducing?"

John takes a deep breath to keep from standing up and socking his flatmate in the jaw. "Sherlock, what the hell are you deducing about me? I thought I was boring to you."

Sherlock is quiet for long enough that John looks up at him, and John is surprised that Sherlock looks… well, if John didn't know any better, he'd say Sherlock looks confused. You, as a second opinion, would probably agree.

"When did I ever say you were boring?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, there was the time when you said that my 'funny little head' was boring. And then another time when you said my taking Sarah to the cinema for a date was boring. And you called Jeanette, the last woman I dated, boring right to her face. And then—"

"No, John, none of those were calling _you_ boring. I'm sure inside your brain is boring. Your taste in dates, yes, it's boring. And dear god, every girlfriend you've ever had is dull."

"I thought everyone was dull to you."

"Most people are. My brother is boring all the time. Lestrade's generally uninteresting usually. Mrs. Hudson frequently bores me. But you, John… you aren't boring."

John is surprised by the comment, but he is more surprised by the fact that his ears have gone hot and he has a little nervous lump in his throat at Sherlock's words. The intense ice blue eyes are enough to make his stomach clench uncomfortably, but he doesn't understand why. You know why he's feeling that way, of course, it's obvious, but John _can_ be a little slow on the uptake from time to time. Give him a minute.

"So you're telling me everyone bores you but me," John says.

"I don't know why you must repeat everything I say for it to make sense to you, but yes, that's what I'm saying," Sherlock confirms, his fingers forming a steeple beneath his chin as he continues to stare at John.

"What about _Irene_? _She_ didn't bore you," John says, a little surprised at the disdain in his voice.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "The Woman bored me too," Sherlock assures John. "But, oddly enough, she is the reason this whole case started."

John blinks. They have gone from him being interesting to Sherlock being on a case in less than a second. How _did_ Sherlock keep all his thoughts straight in his head all the time?

Sherlock had been being extra weird of late, which is saying something, as you might imagine. Mostly, it's because he's quiet. Like he's thinking very, very hard. John thinks maybe he's still upset about Irene, and how she's in America now—even though John knows she is actually dead (Though, both you and Sherlock know that isn't the case either. Sherlock doesn't know where the Woman is, but she certainly isn't dead).

But John can't be sure, because Sherlock is acting unlike he ever has before. Just thinking nonstop—well, that's normal, but being quiet about it isn't. And then he's been trying to keep out of John's sight. It'd been annoying John for eight long days now. Every time John came into the room and sat down, Sherlock would place himself out of John's line of sight, and John could feel Sherlock's burning gaze on him. A few times, he's tried turning so he could see Sherlock again, because it made him feel less anxious, but then Sherlock would just move again. And the yelling at inanimate objects and animals and the air for being too loud, that had been a very frequent thing in 221B for the past week.

The only thing different today is that Sherlock is sitting right in front of John. It makes John feel better that Sherlock isn't hiding, so he doesn't say anything about it, but he's still been on edge.

And that's when Sherlock screamed at the birds and John couldn't stay silent about Sherlock's insanity any longer.

So now, he is very confused indeed. Sherlock says he's on a case. And it has to do with Irene? How is that possible?

John remembers to respond after a few too many seconds of thinking. "You're on a case? I thought Lestrade hadn't called you in days, and that's why you've been especially odd this past week."

"No, he's called. I told him I was busy."

John blinks again. "But you haven't been doing anything."

"Yes I have," Sherlock retorts.

John sighs angrily. Sherlock and his cryptic explanations that explain nothing. "Then what does this have to do with Irene?" John tries. "She's—she's in America."

"It's a text from a while back. I ignored it at the time. But then I read it again and realised she might have been on to something. So I started looking into it."

John takes a moment to put the puzzle pieces of the conversation together. "Something Irene said has you deducing something about _me_?"

"Exactly. You're keeping up better than I expected."

"Okay then," John says, trying not to sound annoyed. "Then what is it?"

Sherlock doesn't reply.

"Jesus, Sherlock, just tell me!"

"The experiments will be starting soon anyway. You'll figure it out."

"You aren't doing any experiments on me," John warns dangerously.

"Don't worry, if I'm right, and I usually am, you'll quite enjoy it."

John growls in irritation and Sherlock smirks. "What?" John snaps.

"I like when you growl," he says. "It's hot."

John's breath catches in his throat. He couldn't have actually just heard that. There's no way, no way in all the world, that those words just came out of Sherlock's mouth. But here Sherlock is, looking at John with amusement twinkling in his eyes. John doesn't notice, but you see that his ears have gone pink and that he's nervously twisting his fingers together. And, John really doesn't realise he does this—and would never admit it even if he did know he did it—but you see him give Sherlock a quick up and down, actually checking him out.

Sherlock sees all that you have seen, however. And more. John's breathing changed just barely. His heart is beating just a fraction of a second faster than before. And he shifts his leg just slightly in arousal that is so premature that John doesn't even realise he feels it yet. He still thinks it's just embarrassment.

But Sherlock knows.

"It's also attractive when you look nervous like that," Sherlock muses. "I like it."

This time John's mouth actually falls open. Sherlock knows more each second that he's right. Really, he knew he was right all along, ever since he actually opened his mind to what he had been almost purposefully ignoring for so long. All the time thinking was not about how John felt… but how Sherlock felt.

"You're surprised," Sherlock says. "Tell me why."

John's still gaping. Sherlock is saying the oddest things—John didn't realise that Sherlock knew the meaning of 'hot' in slang terms—but he's treating it like some sort of experiment.

"Sherlock, you're being ridiculous," John says. But what's wrong with his voice? It sounds all funny and quiet. You know, and Sherlock knows, but John's just denying it at this point. He and Sherlock had that in common. They both would have noticed their feelings a lot earlier if they weren't both stubbornly ignoring them.

"John, I am going to do something," Sherlock says. "I was going to wait before I got to this part of the experiment, but I just…" Sherlock cannot bring himself to admit out loud that John just looks too attractive in his startled, just barely sexually-frustrated state for Sherlock to stay back any longer. "I am going to do something and I need you to have an open mind."

John's mind isn't open at all, but Sherlock can't wait, not anymore. So he goes over to the settee and sits next to John first. John is confused, and for some reason he's flustered. He doesn't realise, as I'm sure you have, that Sherlock sitting so close to him is the reason John is feeling confused, why what John figures is an _inexplicable_ flush is rising up his cheeks.

"Are you ready?" Sherlock asks.

John's actually scared now, he really is, because what the hell is that glint in Sherlock's eye? He recognises it… but it can't be. Because it looks like the look any one of his girlfriends gave him when they really wanted to shag him.

So John's scared… and excited. This time, he feels it, but he doesn't know why. It startles him, but he has no time to think about it before Sherlock's made up his mind and Sherlock lurches forward and their lips crash together.

And something odd happens to John in that moment. Once Sherlock's lips touch his, every doubt in his head literally disintegrates on the spot. He's never felt so right in his whole life. Everything he always felt for Sherlock but always ignored is there clearly in his head, and he understands perfectly well that this moment is what the two of them have been leading up to for a very long time.

So he just gives in. He lets out a tiny sigh and his arms go around his flatmate, one around his back and the other tangling up in that curly, raven hair of his.

And too quickly, the kiss ends. Sherlock backs away an inch or so. You can feel the tension in the air as they both want to plunge in for more, but neither of them do so.

"See?" Sherlock says. "Knew it. You want to be in a romantic relationship with me. And I accept."

John blinks. Yes, he realises now that he has feelings for Sherlock, strong ones. But jumping into a relationship? He isn't ready for that yet.

And what about Sherlock? What happened to Sherlock having no feelings, being married to his work?

"Yes, I thought you might ask," Sherlock says, as if John had actually asked anything out loud. "It's what I've been thinking about all week. I decided that my work will just have to share my head with you. So I accept your request."

John's quiet for a while, trying to make sense of all of this. "I didn't request anything," John finally says.

"Not aloud, no, but I know you're thinking it now, and yes, I'll do it."

Sherlock stands up and goes into the kitchen.

John's brain is working as fast as it can, but it still takes him another second or two to process what Sherlock just said. He just said that he and John were now in a relationship. Dating.

"Sherlock," John says. "Wait a minute. Can't we talk about this?"

"What's to talk about? I know how you feel, you can probably figure out how I feel from the fact that I kissed you a moment ago."

"It's not exactly proper, Sherlock."

"I'm not proper," Sherlock replies. John takes a breath. _That's_ certainly true. "Oh," Sherlock adds. "And now that the experiment's over, you can see why Irene started all this. I had never considered… well, I was ignoring the facts until she pointed it out to me. There's a paper on the table with a copy of the text."

And so John stands and goes to the table. You see the paper before him, but then John picks it up.

_John's blog is HILARIOUS. I think he likes you more than I do. Let's have dinner._

John wants to be irritated, and wants to force Sherlock to talk to him like a normal person… but instead, he just smiles. He didn't think ever in his life that he would thank Irene Adler for anything… but now he feels he needs to.

* * *

So that's how the relationship—though John still hesitates to call it that sometimes—started. And John was uncomfortable at first, but he quickly got used to it.

Things didn't actually change much usually, which was most of the problem. Sherlock was still a prat, and confusing as hell, and just really unbearable in general, except now John was more emotionally attached to the situation, making every blow-up from his flatmate hit him harder.

John would've ended it several times by now if it weren't for the tiny moments when their attraction was obvious, flaring in the air between them. John'd be working on something, reading or watching telly or on his computer or whatever, and then he'd notice Sherlock staring at him. And he'd stare right back.

Yes, that's all that happened. Nothing more. Just a lot of really heated staring that was actually enough to get both parties completely hard on more than one occasion. You probably would have been turned on by it too, had you been there, because both Sherlock and John were very good at being intense when they wanted to be.

And I don't know whether you understand or not, but for John, just those small moments were enough to make him want to keep whatever "relationship" they had going.

But now it had happened again. Sherlock being crazy. But this time, Sherlock seemed to be upset with John.

It'd been just a normal day, and John had come home from work to see Sherlock waiting for him, sitting on his seat and staring at John. John's heart started to race when he realised that it was going to happen again. One of those unbelievably sexy stare-offs that left him frustrated in the best sort of way for the rest of the day. It's not that he didn't want more, because he did, but he wasn't sure if Sherlock was capable of more, so he didn't push it. For now, this was enough.

So he sat down on the settee and looked at Sherlock. He, just to get things going, bit his lip, and was pleased when Sherlock shuttered just slightly watching him do it. John just barely smiled, a seductive little smirk.

And then Sherlock had suddenly shot up, and completely out of nowhere, looked angry. "Damn it, John!" he yelled, and he stormed from the flat.

And now, you and I are back to the present. With John sitting in the dark room with the storm outside, marveling at how completely confusing Sherlock Holmes was. Sherlock had started the stupid staring thing in the first place, John only played along! And now Sherlock has the nerve to be mad at him? What the hell did he do? He's so frustrated, he's about ready to call Sherlock and tell him to sleep somewhere else for the night. Or else just go into his room and lock the door and stay there for a day or two.

But just then, Sherlock comes back in the door. He's holding a brown paper bag.

"John," Sherlock says, coming forward, bending down, and kissing his cheek.

John's surprised, enough so that he completely forgets his frustration with him. "What was that for?"

"Don't people normally do that in relationships?"

"Well—erm—yes, yes they do. But this isn't a normal relationship."

Sherlock looks distraught again.

"What did I do?" John sighs. Because what else is he supposed to say?

Sherlock looks over to him desperately. "Why can't you just understand? I don't want to say it! Or ask it, or whatever."

"Erm… I don't understand."

"Of course not!" Sherlock bellows. John doesn't have enough time to be angry that Sherlock's yelling again before Sherlock takes the brown paper bag in his hands and dumps it on John's lap.

And John gapes. And gapes. You probably process what Sherlock's dumped on him faster than he does.

It's a pile of lubes and condoms. Different varieties, flavours, sizes.

"John, I've been trying to tell you I want to sleep with you all this time, but you still haven't jumped on me."

John opens his mouth and closes it again in surprise.

But Sherlock just continues. "All the sexually stimulating staring, it was me trying to tell you what I wanted, but you weren't doing it. Though that was nice too. But I realised when you came home that if you don't have me tonight, I'll die. Really, I will. So do you get it now?"

John spends another moment staring at Sherlock in awe, but then what comes next is just natural. He jumps up and thrusts his whole body against Sherlock, kissing him hard and sending both of them into the wall, where Sherlock's back thuds hollowly. They rut against one another and John can't believe he's kept himself from doing this all this time.

And yes, maybe Sherlock's a madman, but John decides, as you did a long time ago, that their relationship is meant to be, even if it's confusing most of the time. He can figure out everything else later. For now, all he needs is Sherlock.

So, reader, here is the story of how John Watson and Sherlock Holmes really got together. There's a lot more to it than this, I can assure you. Maybe, if you ask really nicely, I'll tell you some more. I'll even tell you about exactly what you want to know about, if you ask for it. Their sex, their first real date. Sexual or romantic, it doesn't matter to me. I only care what the reader wants to hear. So if you want anything in particular, please, say so in a review. You've been great company and I'd be only happy to show you what you want to see.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it as much as John and Sherlock are enjoying each other right now—because we are still standing in the living room with them as they snog heartily. It's okay. They can't see us anyway.


	2. Reader! There you are again!

Reader! There you are again! I am terribly sorry for the extremely long delay, if you are one of the people who read the first chapter of this months back. Even writers have busy schedules. But, alas, I am back for more of John and Sherlock.

You must have very little on your schedule if you're taking time to read another chapter of this ridiculous story! But I thank you, good sir/ma'am/person (because, again, assuming you have a gender is just silly. You know what assumptions do. Make an _ass_ out of _u_ and _me_.)

Oh, reader, I'm sorry for that joke. That was such a bad, overused joke that I wouldn't blame you if you just stopped reading right here and now…

Buuuuut, if you do that you won't get to hear about Sherlock and his rapidly increasing sex drive. It's really a great little story, if you can forgive me for the terrible joke long enough to read it.

Good, you're still here. On with the story then!

It started with Sherlock's experiment with John. Observing him all the time as he just did daily things.

See, Sherlock always thought John was intriguing. He wasn't even sure _why_ he thought so, but he had always enjoyed watching John. Maybe it was because he was so simple. He woke up, he went to work, he watched telly, he read a book. But then also John had this drive for adventure, this craving that had to be fueled or he'd get just as bored as Sherlock does—though, as you know, Sherlock getting bored is more dangerous than John getting bored.

And, even though Sherlock had tried to suppress his emotions for his whole life… he never admitted to anyone, but they were still there. One of the things that he had dug down deep, something that came back closer to the surface when he met John, was his sex drive. It hardly ever had time to develop, since he pushed it down so early in life, but it had always been there, including not only wanting sex, but desiring closeness to others and being able to gauge attractiveness.

Because why would Sherlock need to know who was attractive and who wasn't? That information was deleted _very_ early on. What a waste of space!

But when he met John, suddenly the file seemed to un-delete itself. Like it had never really been gone; it had just been lying dormant until someone worthwhile come along to awaken it once more. Because the truth was, Sherlock _really_ liked to look at John. Every time he examined him, he saw a detail he missed the last time he checked. A fleck of colour in his eye he had never noticed, a little scar on his knuckle that was obviously from some sort of fishing hook. One ear was infinitesimally larger than the other.

And every time he looked at Sherlock, the corners of his mouth would go up, not even a fraction of an inch. But Sherlock saw it, and it was his favourite part of looking at John. Even when John was thoroughly fed up with Sherlock as a person, he was happy to see him, somewhere deep in his subconscious.

And that brings us to the other thing that came with his libido. His desire for personal relationships with fellow human beings. That hadn't extended beyond John very much yet—maybe to Mrs Hudson, or Lestrade when he wasn't being a complete imbecile—and Sherlock was happy for that. It was even more of a waste of time than being able to say 'who's hot and who's not', as crap telly would say—because we both know, even though Sherlock denies it, that he loves crap telly.

But for some stupid reason, Sherlock really, truly cared what John thought of him. The fact that John was always secretly happy to see him made him swell up inside with... well, with _feelings_. They were awful, uncomfortable things, and he really despised them most of the time… but they were also really difficult to ignore now that they had been dug up out of his subconscious.

And do you know what his feelings say? Sherlock didn't realise it until he read that text again, which made him start his experiment, but his feelings said: JOHN. Nothing else really mattered. Not like he had room in his head for someone else to matter anyway. Just John being in there was completely fine with him.

So I've talked about him liking to look at John, and I've talked about him liking to share feelings with John…

And then comes to my favourite part (and probably your favourite too), him liking to have sex with John.

Sherlock was shocked by quite how much he wanted to have sex with John, once the sex drive was there in his head. John was just so _sexy_. He did this thing where he bit his lip… it gave Sherlock shivers just thinking about it.

But it's not like he liked sex in general. He tried to do research on the sex act once, through videos on the internet—I know, it's called porn, but Sherlock feels better when he doesn't call it that—and the videos had just looked like monkeys throwing their feces at each other at the zoo. He didn't understand how someone could watch that stuff and have a single milliliter of blood go into their nethers.

But with John. Oh, it was different with John. Even just after that first kiss. John had actually surprised Sherlock—only mildly, of course, because nobody surprises Sherlock Holmes!—by letting go of his control so thoroughly. He'd melted into Sherlock's arms, and all at once he realised John was beautiful, John was very comfortable to have pressed against you, and—most importantly—John was a very good kisser. He felt a tensing in his abdomen that he had never experienced before. He almost gasped from the shock of it. He'd wanted to thrust his arms around John to press him down into the settee, do the things he learned in his online research and more—so instead, out of fear of what he was feeling, he pulled away from John. Sherlock couldn't believe how out-of-check his feelings had gotten. Yes, he was ready for a relationship, but he had never expected to feel anything so incredibly intense.

And, as you very well know, it didn't stop there. You and I both know that from then on, Sherlock couldn't stop thinking about having sex with John. He'd just stare at John, imagine what it would be like to be pressed against him again…

Sherlock felt stupid, actually. How could he be so weak? His mind was almost entirely consumed by John. In fact, it was to the point that people were starting to notice. Lestrade was talking to him, just last week, and he had been too busy staring at John's arse to pay even a little bit of attention.

"What was that?" he had said, and everyone looked at him like he had gone mad—more mad than he already is, that is. Sherlock heard everything everyone said, even when he wasn't paying attention, usually. Knew it before they were going to say it half of the time.

And the oddest thing happened. It seemed Lestrade made a deduction of his own, because he looked at Sherlock, then at John, then at Sherlock again with a questioning gaze. Sherlock pretended not to see it and guessed what he had said—and he was right, of course—and everyone had forgotten about the little incident. But still, Sherlock wanted John so badly it was actually distracting him from his work.

That just wouldn't do. So Sherlock knew that just the staring contests weren't enough. They weren't feeding his growing appetite, not even close. He'd have to get John into bed. But how? How did you ask someone for that? Sherlock again felt clueless—and he really, _really_ hated being clueless—about how to go about it.

So he'd gone to the store and bought supplies, dumping them on John's lap.

* * *

And now we, again, are back to the present. Right where we left off at the end of the last chapter, actually, with John and Sherlock snogging against the wall in the living room, because John had finally gotten the hint.

And god, Sherlock is so ecstatic that it actually scares him—another thing he won't ever admit out loud though, trust me. Why should he want to touch John so badly? Why is it that everywhere John's hands are, Sherlock feels a tingling, a burning, in the entire limb that he's in contact with? Sherlock doesn't know, and he's hardly able to think about it, because he's burning up everywhere because John _is_ everywhere.

And yes, you read that right. Sherlock isn't able to think about something. In fact, Sherlock is so unable to think anything it that it doesn't even bother him that he can't think about anything. All there is in his head is _John John John John John John_…

"Should we take this to the bedroom?" John asks.

Sherlock is breathing harder than he has in years. "I don't care where we take it, just take it _now_."

And John gets this evil smile on his face as he examines Sherlock's flushed face, his racing pulse in his neck, his breaths that are half coming out as moans.

"Is someone getting a little needy?" asks John.

Sherlock can't even think of anything witty to reply with. So all that he says is, "No."

"Oh," John says, backing away and sitting on the settee. "Okay then."

Sherlock stares down at John with a million emotions on his face: betrayal, confusion, need, offence.

"John, get back here," Sherlock snaps.

And that damn man has the nerve to smile. "No, I don't think I will."

Sherlock doesn't understand. John's erection is practically bulging out of his zip, his pupils are completely dilated, his breath is ragged… and he's just sitting on the couch, looking wickedly amused.

"Why not?" Sherlock says, only just barely making it sound like an accusation instead of a childish whine.

"If you can't admit that you want me, then why should I even bother?" he asks dramatically. You and Sherlock both know that John's just being an arse now.

"You know I do."

"Do what?"

Sherlock gives John a glare that's so hot, you can feel it across the room.

"Sherlock, you're going to have to tell me what you need."

Sherlock's almost ready to just storm off without the sex, but his erection is practically throbbing in his trousers and he needs to do something about it. And John has that smirk on his face, which is really quite attractive.

And so, the proud Sherlock Holmes says, "Please. I _need_ you. Come back."

At first, John just looks surprised that Sherlock admitted it. And then his eyes get fiery again and he takes Sherlock's hand, tugging him to his bedroom. Sherlock shuts the door just to get thrust against it by John.

And John's kissing him hard, and his hands are everywhere, and Sherlock's just reeling because he feels like this was all he ever needed in his life. He's spent half of his life being so damn _bored_ all the time. There is never enough to entertain him. Even the things that did so only did it mildly. Distracted him for a minute or two. And then he was back to boredom again.

But _this_. This was what he'd been missing. With this, he'd never be bored again.

And right when he thinks this is about the time that John backs up again, looking upset.

"What?" Sherlock asks, and it definitely sounds ruder than he intends, but he's just burning everywhere.

"Sherlock…" John mutters. "I don't think I'm ready for this."

Sherlock gapes. That isn't possible. He can't not be ready. Sherlock sees all the signs of arousal, felt all the enthusiasm. Sherlock hasn't missed anything…

So what the hell is John saying?

"_What_?" Sherlock repeats incredulously.

"It's just… firs you tell me we're in a relationship, and I go along with it, because I knew I liked you. Then we've spent these last weeks with the whol staring thing, and I went with that too. And now here you are, trying to sleep with me, but I feel we missed a crucial step in the process."

Sherlock thinks back. What step? What did John think Sherlock missed?

You probably know by now. And Sherlock will be embarrassed in a moment here when John tells him what he's missed, because he should've known John would say it.

"You know, the dating bit."

Sherlock blinks. "Like where you went with all those vapid women and had fun? Those things?"

"Yes, Sherlock, a date. Or two."

"But… I figured we could skip that part."

And now Sherlock knows he's said something wrong by the look on John's face, but he doesn't know what. Don't you think Sherlock is kind of stupid for a smart guy occasionally? This is one of those times.

"You… you figured we could skip the emotional part and go straight to sex? That's not dating, that's fuck buddies," John tells Sherlock.

"What, these 'dates' are what equate to emotion?"

"A date is only spending time together, Sherlock. If you don't have the time or patience—or desire, for that matter—to do that, then you can't be in a relationship at all."

Now Sherlock at least understands that he had to give this date thing a chance if he and John are going to work. John won't be talked out of it, that's obvious by his stance. Sherlock hasn't seen John's jaw jutted out so far in indignation in ages.

"Well…" Sherlock murmurs. "You said a date is when two people who like each other go out and they have fun. Right?"

"Yes, Sherlock," John says exasperatedly.

"Then get dressed. I have an idea."

* * *

At this point, Sherlock thinks he has a good idea, but trust me, it's not actually that great. I'd tell you what it is, except it's much more fun if you watch it unravel.

John and Sherlock are already in a cab together. John looks excited.

If he knew where they were headed, he wouldn't be, but again, you'll figure it out.

"Sherlock," John says again, pretending to sound frustrated but really just sounding like a flirtatious sixteen year old, "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere we have fun."

John puts on his thinking face, probably trying to figure out where he and Sherlock ever go to do fun things. If they have ever gone out to do fun things at all, that don't have to do with a case.

Sherlock's smirking. And man, I want to tell him to get that smirk off his face, because this idea—

Sorry, I'm doing it again. But watching train wrecks while they happen when they could be easily avoided… not fun. Too bad neither of us are actually there, or maybe I really would tell him.

But anyway, they get to Sherlock's destination and John's looking up at it in blank confusion. What the hell does Sherlock have planned that means they had to go _here_? John's giving him the benefit-of-the-doubt, thinking that maybe Sherlock actually has a plan that isn't rubbish.

So they go up the lift, and it opens to the homicide department's floor.

What, are they going to see Lestrade before they go? John wonders.

But you know now. At least, you should know, and if you don't, then read on. You'll figure it out when John does.

Sherlock strides into Lestrade's office, John right behind, still looking puzzled. But you can see the beginning of understanding on his face, he just hasn't really recognised the truth consciously yet.

"Tell me," Sherlock says.

Lestrade's eyebrow goes up. "Tell you what? You've been ignoring my calls for weeks now. Said you were on a case."

"I _was_ on a case. Said case is solved. So now I'm ready for another. What about this woman who was in—"

"Sherlock," John says, his voice quiet, but not so much in embarrassment or reservation, not this time. "Are you here for a _case_?"

Sherlock looks back to him. "Of course. What did you think we were doing at Scotland Yard?"

"What, are we stopping by beforehand, or what?"

"Before…" Sherlock enquires.

And John's got it. He's blinking at Sherlock, his mouth flapping. "Sherlock," John says again, his voice somewhere between mock-calm and totally patronising, "did you take me _here_ for our date?"

"Date?" Lestrade asks sharply in interest. Only you hear him, because the other two are only focusing on each other.

"You said dates were where two people have fun together. You and I frequently have fun when solving a mystery."

John stares at Sherlock in astonishment for another moment, agreeing with my earlier sentiment that Sherlock is really dumb for a clever guy. "Really? Are you this afraid to just spend some time with me?" John asks, anger now flooding into his voice, increasing its volume enough that people outside the office were glancing over.

Sherlock's confused. He and John had fun on cases. It's the truth. So why is John cross?

"This _is_ spending time with you!" Sherlock argues indignantly.

"Sherlock, just because we have fun on cases does not make it constitute a date!"

"Why not?"

"Because—bec—because this is like work for us. You can't say you're going on a date and then take them back to your office to file paperwork."

"I hardly compare what we do to filing paperwork. You enjoy it, don't you?"

John's suddenly not so angry anymore. Sherlock really doesn't get it. He really thought this would be a nice gesture. So John comes forward, and he speaks more gently. "Of course I enjoy it," says John. "But the solving the crimes bit is just a bit of an added bonus. I like it so much because I'm spending time with you."

I'd just like to say right here that Lestrade is still, in fact, in the room. The door to the office is still open and people are eavesdropping. Including Donovan and Anderson. Just because Sherlock and John have forgotten about them that doesn't mean you need to.

But anyway, back to John's monologue.

"But I'd rather not be in mortal danger on a date, Sherlock," John finishes.

"So a date has to be shallow and annoying?"

"What, is everything that isn't a case shallow and annoying?"

"No, but if you did them with those other women—"

"A date can be a lot of things, Sherlock. Don't decide you don't like them just because you didn't like my girlfriends. Why don't we just go out to eat?"

"Is that a date?"

"Most dates involve food."

"But we do that all the time. Go out to eat, I mean."

"Yeah. It doesn't have to be something we never do. I just want… I want time to really talk to you."

Sherlock's lip curls. "Why?"

John rolls his eyes and backs up a step, annoyed again. "Oh, what's the use? Let's just go back to the flat then."

John turns and Sherlock doesn't need to think for very long before he grabs John's wrist and turns him around.

"I apologise," Sherlock says. "I don't mean to be rude."

"No, you just do it naturally."

"I just… don't understand any of this. Why you have to go on a scheduled 'date' in order to build feelings for each other. Don't we already have those feelings?"

And for the first time during this conversation, John sees Sherlock's point. Sherlock's not saying he's unwilling to have fun with John, he's just saying he doesn't get the point of a date. That's a very different story than just not having the desire to go on a date at all. "Yeah, you're right, we do. It's just… I don't know, I just want to spend some actual time with you. Without cases."

"So can't we just rent a film and go back to the flat to do that?"

John smiles. "Sure we can. I never said we couldn't."

"Order some of the Chinese takeaway from down the street?"

"I love that place, sure."

Sherlock privately decides that this plan doesn't sound so bad. He likes spending time with John too, after all. And this didn't involve other people a table away. Sherlock didn't like to share John, not even with a waiter.

"Then let's go home," says Sherlock.

John smiles wider and takes Sherlock's hand. "Okay."

And John and Sherlock manage to walk out of the office and through the rest of the cubicles without even thinking about all the people that just heard all of that. You can see them all though. Lestrade's still gaping, unable to speak. Anderson and Donovan are looking at each other incredulously.

Just before the lift shuts, just because you're listening for it, you hear Donovan say, "Sherlock honestly doesn't know what a date is?"

* * *

And so, their first actual date ended up being the two of them watching a film—John chose it, so it was a comedy—eating Chinese takeaway.

Sherlock spent half of the film critiquing their sense of humour and the other half critiquing the cinematography or the script or the acting, but John didn't mind that much. Because Sherlock was sprawled out on the sofa, his head on John's lap, and John's fingers were combing through Sherlock's hair. And John spent a lot of the movie just looking at Sherlock. At the sharp contrasts on his face from the way the dim light from the telly hit his cheekbones.

Sherlock notices eventually. Glances up at John, like he has a few times during the film, but this time he catches John staring. John doesn't look away, unembarrassed.

"What?" Sherlock asks, not completely rudely like he usually might. "What are you looking at?"

"Just you."

And Sherlock is about to ask why John would do that, except he realises that he actually understands. He, after all, quite enjoys watching John himself. He thought maybe that was just something he did, and was strange, but now John is staring too.

So Sherlock asks, "Am I interesting?" with a smirk on his face.

"Quite, actually," replies John, leaning down and planting a kiss to Sherlock's lips.

And Sherlock's surprised that this whole date thing really isn't so bad. Maybe he'd need to go on a few more.

And so, there you have it. The first date. Not to be confused with The First Date, the fictional story I wrote about John and Sherlock. Because this, of course, is real. We're watching it as it happens.

Thank you again for coming. Sorry for wasting your precious time with my silly ramblings. But you must enjoy it, since you're here.

And, it's funny how cyclical life can be sometimes, because the end of this chapter is ending much like the end of the last had. With John and Sherlock snogging in the background. Only difference this time is that the lights are off and they're on the settee.

And maybe John's wish of going on more than one date before the sex isn't going to work out so well. We'll see.


End file.
